


wanting

by chartreuser, thegraceinyoureyes



Series: for the taking [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i'm sorry. no i'm not.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreuser/pseuds/chartreuser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceinyoureyes/pseuds/thegraceinyoureyes
Summary: Nicky doesn't know how to deal with it, sometimes.





	wanting

**Author's Note:**

> this is for becko whom i love very much and also my phone that i dropped once at the mcdonalds near my house at six am because she'd sent me porn
> 
> warnings: daddy kink, age difference, power imbalance

 Nicky had made Andre live with him first, when he first came to the NHL. It was better off when you had someone around, who was there when you needed questions. And Nicky had done all the necessary things, the things they’d expected of you as someone more senior—taking him around D.C., buying him whatever he wanted, footing the bill for dinner. It was something good to settle into—but Andre really hadn’t needed any pointers. He knew enough.

 He’d moved out of Nicky’s house to live with Willy and Latts, but it hadn’t stopped him from dropping by. Hadn’t stopped him from filching Nicky’s food from the fridge, leaving his footprints all over his house as Willy and Latts got up to whatever they’d wanted.

 Andre wasn’t clingy, not exactly. He was just—there. Leaning into Nicky’s space, like he belonged there, stilling when Nicky wraps a hand around the back of his neck. Nicky indulges him, really, cooking him food as Andre sits by the kitchen counter, snacking on whatever was still on their diet plan. Sometimes Nicky would watch him, listening to him talk about his day as the crumbs stuck to the corners of his lips. He’d bent over to wipe them away, then, and Andre’s cheeks would pink up. His lips parting softly.

 Of course he knows Andre wants him. Nicky’s a soft touch for anybody who’d look at him the way Andre does, eager to please, so sweet, nearly obedient. He gets a little distracted, sometimes, from hockey—but when Nicky chastises him, he folds, apologies sweet in his mouth with his puppy eyes. Nicky always forgives him, though—reassures him that it’s okay. There’s a lot of mistakes to be made in your first few years, and it settles him, thankfully, leaving him looking just the slightest bit dazed.

 Nicky doesn’t know how to deal with it, sometimes. Andre plastering himself to Nicky’s side during practice, or how he always tries to please Nicky, bright and sunny whenever he shows up at Nicky’s house to entice him into dinner. He’s always there, with Willy and Latts, tagging along by Ovi’s side, dropping over with Nate and Braden. Or by himself.

 One of the children’s jokes stick around. Nicky doesn’t mind at all, because most of It is just talk. Latts calling him _Papa_ , which Nicky had rolled his eyes at and smiled for, but—it did seem a bit fitting. It catches on with Willy, and then with Andre, of course, of course it does—and Nicky was ready to laugh it off, too, until he’d noticed the flush on Andre’s face, the way he’d ducked his head the first time calling him that, jerking away from himself, a little like he’d just been burned.

 Nicky just smiled, blandly. No one was paying attention to Andre, flushed after practice, his breathing still laboured. But it was shifting a little, as Nicky walked up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder.

 "Alright?" Nicky had asked, like there was nothing to it. He’d shifted his fingers, slowly, to Andre's neck. "You seem a little tired."         

 Andre had mumbled up some half-assed excuse, one that didn’t hold up, but Nicky took it. It wasn’t the time.

 He’d slid his hand up to his cheek, instead, watching Andre melt into the touch, pliant, but Nicky didn’t make it last, pulling away, and Andre’d swayed that tiny bit closer, the way he did when he got marginally drunk, finding some new reason to drape himself all over Nicky at the bar.

 He did that a lot, legs parted as he leaned on Nicky’s shoulder, his hands wandering. Sometimes it’s a hug, but other times—it’d seemed like Andre had just wanted Nicky to rearrange him, to put him back into position.

 Andre’s always smiling at him like that, is the thing, full to the brim of sugar, listening to whatever Nicky says to him. Of course Nicky is affected. But it’s not his to initiate—if Nicky wants something—if Nicky asks for something, Andre will give it to him.

 In the meantime, Nicky will let Andre insert himself into his personal space, laughing and joking as he clings close, asking Nicky to feed him a mouthful of his food at dinner, his lips parting shyly. Willy and Latts ribbing him for how he can’t feed himself, how he has to get _Papa_ to bring the fork up to his mouth, for Andre to bite into.

 But Nicky keeps coddling him. That’s on Nicky—how Andre’s perpetually on Nicky’s couch, playing his video games with Latts. Cleaning out the entirety of Nicky’s fridge with his teenage appetite, coming into his space, always, demanding affection. Nicky keeps giving him what he wants. He doesn’t think he can stop.

 

 

He’s watching something inane when Andre comes out of the room. It’s basically his, now, the guest room that has Andre’s things permanently moved into it. He sprawls over the couch, his head landing in Nicky’s lap as he kicks his legs up over the arm. Nicky rolls his eyes, waits for him to settle as he moves the remote control out of the way.

 “Papa,” Andre whines, and he’s not shy about it now, using that tone on Nicky whenever he wants his approval. “I’m bored.”

 “You can still go out with Willy or Latts,” Nicky reminds him. They’d invited Andre to go grocery shopping with them before they’d left Nicky’s house.

 “No," Andre says. "I wanna be here."                 

 "Fine," Nicky acquiesces, and his tone is a little short, but he sinks his fingers into Andre's curls, scratching at his scalp lightly as he watches. Andre quiets, then, and Nicky suspects he’s about to fall asleep, but not that Andre’s breathing would pick up, rough—or how he gasps, a quiet moan escaping him.     

 Nicky doesn't look down. He just keeps running his fingers through Andre’s hair, skimming his fingers over his scalp like nothing’s happening—Andre hasn’t said anything yet. He hadn’t asked Nicky to touch him. He hadn’t asked Nicky to stop.

 Until Andre keens, a little, his hand reaching up to grasp at Nicky’s arm. “P-papa,” he says, a little brokenly, his dick visibly hard in his trousers.

 "Yes, Andre?" Nicky asks, and he pulls his hand away from Andre’s hair. He's flushed red, now, and there's a pout forming on his face. Nicky wants to palm his face, to see how hot his face runs, if he’ll still melt into Nicky’s hands. "What is it?"    

 Andre seems to flush even harder, then. "Can I touch myself?"     

 Nicky shrugs, flicks his eyes back to the television. "If you'd like," he says.           

 Andre's watching him, his breathing still uneven--he still hasn't unzipped his trousers yet, or shifted his hands. Nicky reaches for the remote control to shut the television off.  "Go on," he says, and Andre seems to freeze. "Touch yourself."          

 And Andre does—he reaches down to shrug his pants off. His dick’s already hard and leaking. It almost looks painful, the way that Andre’s body is shuddering, the soft noises he seems to make involuntarily, the fine tremors shaking him.

 "Already?" Nicky asks, surprised. He rubs his thumb over Andre's bottom lip, watches him try to draw it into his mouth. He can feel himself hardening at the sight, at how Andre looks almost sleepy when he’s aroused. "Just from touching your hair?"

 "Yeah," Andre says, and he gasps, when he finally gets a fist around himself. His pre-come’s already steadily leaking out of his dick. "I'm sorry."        

 "Are you?" Nicky asks, finally giving Andre what he wants, slipping his thumb into his mouth, rubbing over the ridges of his teeth. He's jerking himself off, now, his mouth slack until he remembers to suck on Nicky’s thumb, running his tongue across the pad of it. It feels good, the hint of teeth that Andre’s not afraid of using. "You seem pretty alright to me."                       

 Andre doesn't respond—he's still too busy touching himself, his hips fucking up into his fist, the muscles in his calves tense, his back arching subtly on top of Nicky's. He must know that Nicky's hard, at this point, his head right beside it.

 He's shaking, a little, moaning prettily around his thumb—his mouth has gone lax, again, small noises forming at the back of his throat—and he's looking at Nicky, watchful, like he's waiting to see what Nicky would do next, if there's anything he wants from Andre—

 "Ask for it," Nicky says, his thumb sliding out of Andre's mouth as he looks like he's close to coming, his strokes losing their rhythm. "What do you want?"                    

 "I wanna suck you off," Andre mumbles, and there's a little bit of drool escaping his mouth, and Nicky moves to wipe it off. "Please?"

 "Yes," Nicky says, and he presses two of his fingers into Andre's mouth, watching him spill over into his hand, messy, some of the come landing on his shirt. He looks fucked out already, his eyelids droopy. Nicky sinks his fingers into his hair again, then, and watches him nuzzle into the touch.                       

 He remembers to sink onto the floor in front of Nicky, though, onto his knees.                       

 "Papa?" Andre asks, blinking up at him sweetly, like his own come isn't splattered over his body, like he didn't get hard from just Nicky's fingers on his scalp.                       

 "Yes, darling?" Nicky asks. "You know what to do, don't you?"

 "Yeah," Andre says, quietly, and he starts unzipping Nicky's trousers, his eyes flickering back up to Nicky's every few seconds.

 He doesn't hesitate when he takes Nicky's dick out, though--he fits his lips around the head of his cock, and it's an easy slide from then on. Andre doesn't take him too deep, but he knows what he's doing, his tongue running up the underside of his dick, his face hot under Nicky's fingers as Nicky cups his cheek.

 "Good boy," Nicky says, stroking his bottom lip a little, stretched out from his dick.                       

 Andre hums, and he slides another inch down, then, his eyes watering a little as he looks up at Nicky. "Done this a lot?" Nicky asks, hooking a finger into Andre's mouth, tugging at it. "How many guys did you get on your knees for, älskling?"                       

 He pulls his finger out from Andre's mouth, then, smearing it over his cheek. Nicky's getting close, and Andre's keeping up his rhythm, licking and sucking at a steady pace, and Nicky squeezes his shoulder lightly.                       

 "I'm gonna come soon," Nicky tells him, in a gentler tone. Andre hums again around his dick, then, and he pushes himself forward, until Nicky's dick is hitting the back of his throat—and Nicky comes, forgetting to pull out, but it doesn't seem like Andre minds, still sucking him through the remnants of his orgasm as Nicky winds down from it, fingers clenched tight in Andre's hair until he remembers to let go.                       

 "Good," Nicky says, Andre sagging against his thigh, panting harshly as he swallows. "Such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sorry and neither should you since you finished this. <3


End file.
